


Fraternizing with the Enemy

by freddychillz



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Drinking, Drunk Aziraphale (Good Omens), Drunk Crowley (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Smut, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 19:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20102422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freddychillz/pseuds/freddychillz
Summary: Crowley visits Aziraphale's book shop in 1862, they have a tad too much to drink.





	Fraternizing with the Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> My first Good Omens fanfic. I only read through it once and didn't use a beta so good luck with whatever this word vomit is.

_London, Soho. 1862._

Hooves clattered over the stone streets as the hansom cab dodged its way through traffic en route to the book shop. Crowley, with the brim of his top hat pulled down over his sunglasses, leaned against the side of the carriage, watching as London rolled past in a bumpy haze. He couldn’t quite remember exactly how long it’d been now since he’d seen Aziraphale last. He always tried to keep count but sometimes days bled into decades and it became impossible to remember. 

A.Z. Fell and Co. had been around for at least a century now, although the painted letters of its sign still seemed fresh. A sign on the door declared the shop closed as Aziraphale puttered around the winding stacks of dusty tomes. After discouraging his most recent patron from actually purchasing anything and closing the store for the day, he decided to take stock of his inventory and make sure everything was still in its proper place. 

He sifted through the delicate pages of an old book, one he hadn’t read in two centuries. He brushed a hand against the worn page, bold not to wear the gloves he often wore to protect his prized possessions. A rapid knock on the door landed the old book on the floor, the already cracked spine straining even more as it lay open, face-down. Aziraphale sighed. 

“We’re closed,” he shouted to the unwanted patron as he leaned down to pick up the book, inspecting it to the make sure it wasn’t damaged.

Another knock, louder this time, reverberated through the shop. 

“Aziraphale! It’s me.” Behind the dark lenses of his glasses, Crowley rolled his eyes. He’d never understand the purpose of Aziraphale having a book shop if it was so frequently closed and if the angel so often talked his clientele out of making purchases. 

Crowley heard the click of the door being unlocked and offered a crooked half-smile as a greeting when Aziraphale, at last, opened the door.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, failing to hide the happiness in both his voice and eyes. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Crowley walked inside, the door shutting and locking behind him, seemingly of its own accord.

“I need a favor,” the demon replied.

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed, failing to hide his disappointment. “Would it hurt you to ever just stop in for a chat or a cup of tea?” 

“A cup of tea? I thought I was the enemy,” Crowley said through a smirk. He knew damned well Aziraphale protested too much, even if the angel refused to admit it. Maybe he was finally coming around to embracing their friendship.

“I suppose it can’t hurt to have tea with one’s enemy. Every now and then.” Aziraphale led the way to the back of the book shop, the section that served as a sitting room for the angel. 

“No, I suppose it can’t,” Crowley muttered as he sank down into the plush, worn sofa. He took off his hat and set it aside. So much for Aziraphale coming around on the whole friendship thing.

“So, about that favor—” The words just barely left his mouth before Aziraphale had left the room. Oh, right. Tea. Again, Crowley rolled his eyes. He slouched into the couch languid and serpentine. 

When Aziraphale returned with two cups of tea, he handed one off to Crowley, then picked up Crowley’s top hat, hanging it on the coat rack. When the angel finally settled down in his chair, Crowley attempted to broach the topic again.

“I was hoping you could help me—” 

“Should we be discussing this here? It’s not a very discreet location, you know.”

“We’re completely alone, Angel.”

“Yes, but I think we should be more discreet. Meet somewhere. St. James’s Park, perhaps.” 

“Saint—but we’re here, right now. Can’t we just talk?” 

“No, no. It’s too risky. Heaven knows when Gabriel or Michael might waltz right in here. Locked doors don’t keep angels out, you know.” 

Aziraphale had a point. Crowley breathed another sigh and took a small sip of his tea.

The angel hadn’t intended on turning this into a social call, but he wouldn’t be mad if he had succeeded in doing so. It was always business, it seemed, when he and Crowley met up these days. These decades. How long had it been? Aziraphale took a sip of his tea, thinking about how time seemed to drag and breeze by at once. The pleasure of being, more or less, immortal.

“Do you have anything stronger?” Crowley asked suddenly.

“Mm, I have some scotch if you’d like.” A stiff drink certainly sounded more like a social call than even tea did. His cup was abandoned on a nearby table and he was up and off to retrieve the bottle of alcohol.

Crowley thought that, perhaps, a little drinking might take the edge off Aziraphale, relax him enough to let go of his paranoia about Archangels and become open to discussing the favor Crowley needed to ask of him. He didn’t want to have wasted his cab fare coming here for nothing more than a cuppa and some chit chat. Much as he did enjoy the angel’s company and the warmth his proximity spread through Crowley’s body. The demon would settle for friendship, but what he truly desired was so much more than that. A desire that blossomed on that fateful day in the Garden and which only grew over the centuries with every encounter he had with Aziraphale. Crowley didn’t know if demons were “supposed” to be capable of love, but he knew that he himself was.  
When Aziraphale reappeared with a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other, Crowley rose up off the couch to snatch away the open bottle, taking a long pull from it. 

“You may have been a serpent, but there’s no need to behave like an animal,” Aziraphale admonished. Crowley laughed and Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile, his gaze darting to the floor, the sound of that laughter sending a flush of warmth across his cheeks and neck. He couldn’t even begin to fathom how a demon’s laughter could be so delightful and he chose instead to ignore it. 

Much like how Crowley ignored the glass and the admonishment and continued to drink out of the bottle, perched now on the arm of the sofa. With a roll of his eyes, Aziraphale reached over and grabbed the bottle back, pouring himself a glass. 

“This is my finest scotch I’ll have you know. I save it for special occasions.” 

“Mm, and what makes this occasion so special?” Crowley had the bottle again, taking another sip from it. Aziraphale resigned to the fact that Crowley would not be using a glass tonight. 

“Well it has been some time since we’ve seen each other,” Aziraphale replied and took another sip of the alcohol. The warmth of the amber liquid was easier to wrap his mind around than the warmth that spread through him like wildfire when Crowley was near. 

“That it has.” Crowley leaned over to top off Aziraphale’s glass. “Did you miss me?”

“I, well, I- I dare say, as an angel, and you a demon, that I couldn’t possibly—”

“Oh, shut up,” Crowley waved his hand dismissively and slipped back onto the sofa, lounging with his feet draped over the arm. 

Aziraphale had missed him. He always thought often of Crowley during the gaps between their meetings. Wondering what he was doing, if he was well. Certainly not the kind of thoughts one would normally entertain about one’s enemy. But what Heaven didn’t know, didn’t harm anyone. 

They continued drinking for hours, moving on to another bottle of scotch, then a few bottles of wine. They talked idly, catching each other up on what had been going on since they last met. It was so pleasant that Aziraphale didn’t want the night to end. He didn’t want his demon to leave. The demon. Not his demon. His brain swam with intoxication, his heart stammered in his chest. Aziraphale got up from his chair, his legs unsteady, the bookshop tilting, then spinning fully. 

“Oh, dear,” he muttered, his hands stretched out for balance. 

“What are you—?” Crowley began as Aziraphale slowly stumbled his way over to the sofa where Crowley lounged. The angel made a grab for the wine bottle that Crowley had, but lost his balance. The bottle fell to the floor and rolled away, contents spilled but the bottle unbroken. 

And Aziraphale fell on top of Crowley. Half on top of him, anyway.

“I think you’re a tad drunk,” Crowley remarked, knowing full well he was stating the obvious.

“Mmm, well I think you’re a tad drunk Mr. Snakey…Snake.” Aziraphale giggled in a way that Crowley had never heard before. And they had gotten drunk together many times in the past. Crowley shook his head and clutched Aziraphale’s waist in an effort to help the angel get up. A failed effort. The demon was just as clumsy in his drunkenness. 

“I’m stuck.” Aziraphale pouted from his spot half in Crowley’s lap. He was only mildly aware of his position. At least, that’s what he’d tell himself later. 

“Stuck on me?” 

“Like gluuuue.” Crowley snorted and Aziraphale looked his face over, smiling broadly. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he merely blinked rapidly.   
The combination of alcohol and an angel in his lap was enough to make Crowley’s head spin. And Aziraphale just sat there, draped over him. Like it was nothing. Like that was where he belonged. The angel, always so careful of minding Crowley’s personal space and maintaining boundaries between them, now sat in his lap. Fuck.

Aziraphale lifted a finger and pressed it into Crowley’s cheek. 

“Oi, what are you doing? Quit poking me.” Aziraphale giggled again. The sound was almost as intoxicating as the alcohol had been. 

Aziraphale poked his cheek again, holding his finger there for a moment. Then he rested his entire palm against the side of Crowley’s face. “Shouldn’t you be cold? Aren’t snakes cold?”

“I’m not- I’m not really a snake right now.” Even if he was, the closeness of Aziraphale was as warm as a rock in the sun. 

“So warm,” Aziraphale mumbled. He pulled Crowley’s sunglasses off and tossed them over his shoulder. Then he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against Crowley’s. The demon’s eyes widened and then closed as he returned the kiss. What began as a chaste peck quickly devolved into a sloppy kiss fueled by booze and centuries of pining. Crowley wrapped his arms around his angel, pulling him closer, slipping his tongue into Aziraphale’s mouth. The angel clutched a handful of red hair as they kissed, rough and desperate. He shifted until he straddled Crowley fully and broke away from the kiss only to trail kisses along Crowley’s jaw and neck. 

Crowley fumbled with the buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat as the angel nipped at the tender flesh of Crowley’s neck. The demon shivered. He finally devested Aziraphale of his waistcoat and got to work on his shirt. So many layers. Too much fabric. Crowley wanted skin. If he wasn’t quite so intoxicated, he’d rid Aziraphale of his clothes with a snap of his finger. If they weren’t so intoxicated, Crowley wasn’t sure this would happen.

“Do- do you really want to be doing this?” Crowley asked, his eyes searching Aziraphale’s.

“Yes, of course. I’ve- I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“This isn’t just the alcohol talking?” It was a little hard to fathom that Aziraphale could possibly want him as much as Crowley wanted his angel. Aziraphale had always been so stubborn and so staunchly adherent to the rules, even if he bent some of them. 

“Not only the alcohol.” Several bottles of liquid courage were just what Aziraphale needed to throw caution to the wind. 

Content that Aziraphale wasn’t too drunk to know what he was doing, Crowley got back to work unbuttoning Aziraphale’s shirt as Aziraphale’s hands, clumsy with intoxication, made valiant attempts at getting Crowley undressed as well. 

“Oh bugger it,” Aziraphale muttered and waved his hand in an effort to miracle away their clothing.

Miracles don’t tend to go so well when performed by a drunk angel.

While Aziraphale was in his underwear, Crowley now donned a sleek black chemise and black stockings. Aziraphale tilted his head, looking Crowley over.

“Did you already have this on under your suit?”

“Nope.” 

“Oh. Well, good enough. Still less clothing.” 

Crowley chuckled and drew Aziraphale into another kiss. His hands traveled down the angel’s body, tracing every soft curve of his stomach and chest. Crowley dipped his head down to kiss along Aziraphale’s chest. The sensation drew a quiet moan from Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale had kissed men before but had never been touched like this. He had never wanted to be touched by anyone but Crowley. And every caress, every kiss set his nerve endings alight. 

“I want you,” Aziraphale said, the look in his eye more sober than it had been just moments before. Crowley felt those three little words between his thighs and pulled the chemise up and off. The stockings could stay. Crowley snapped his fingers and Aziraphale was finally, beautifully, completely naked. Crowley took a moment to drink the sight in. How he had longed to see Aziraphale like this for so long. 

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s neck and squirmed in his lap. Crowley clutched Aziraphale’s ass and pulled him closer. Aziraphale moaned and buried his face in his demon’s neck. “Crowley,” he said in a voice that was almost a whine. 

“I want you too, Angel.” He caressed his hands over Aziraphale’s ass. One of the many benefits of being a supernatural entity was that all it took was a little demonic miracle to make Crowley’s fingers slick enough for ease of entry. He slipped one inside of Aziraphale, slow and careful, giving the angel time to adjust. 

“Good Lord,” Aziraphale groaned. He’d never felt such a sensation before, and it made his head swim. Crowley eased in a second finger, then a third. Aziraphale moaned and rocked his hips against Crowley’s hand. Satisfied that Aziraphale was ready, Crowley withdrew his fingers, eliciting a whimper from Aziraphale.

Crowley grasped Aziraphale’s hips and pulled the angel down onto his cock. Aziraphale closed his eyes, his head dropping back. He felt so full, so complete. He was still for a long moment, arms wrapped tightly around Crowley. 

“Okay, Angel?” Crowley tenderly caressed a hand along Aziraphale’s back.

“Mmhmm,” Aziraphale replied, his lips a tight line, his eyes squeezed shut. He was almost overwhelmed by how good it felt. Then he slowly began to move his hips and fuck if it didn’t feel even better. Aziraphale moaned out Crowley’s name. 

The sound was enough to make Crowley’s dick ache and he began to roll his hips up, pushing himself deeper into Aziraphale with every thrust. After a few moments, they found a rhythm, moving their hips together in a way that sent wave after delicious wave of pleasure through the both of them. It was almost too much for Aziraphale to take and his wings unfurled and stretched out to the sides. Crowley smirked and dragged his nails down the center of Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale arched back, his wings relaxing behind him as he began to move his hips at a more frantic pace. 

Crowley was tempted to draw out their lovemaking, an easy feat for an angel and a demon, and yet he also longed for that sweet release. It had been a long time in the making after all. Maybe next time they could go on for hours and hours, but tonight, Crowley was too impatient. He caressed Aziraphale's hips, sides, back. He smoothed his hands over the downy feathers of Aziraphale’s wings. The angel shuddered and when Crowley’s hand gripped around Aziraphale’s cock, he moaned loudly. It wasn’t long before he reached his peak and came with a loud exclamation followed by a quiet murmuring of Crowley’s name like a mantra, like a prayer.

With a few more thrusts, Crowley was over the edge, coming inside of Aziraphale. His own wings came out and wrapped around Aziraphale. The gleaming black feathers mingled with the ethereal white of his angel’s wings. 

“That was—” Aziraphale began and faltered. He didn’t have the words to describe it.

“It certainly was,” Crowley agreed, equally speechless. After centuries of longing, finally getting to be with his angel was even better than he had ever imagined.

_St. James’s Park. The next day._

Crowley still had a favor to ask of Aziraphale and so he took the angel up on his suggestion of a meeting in St. James’s Park. The angel was right, they didn’t really know who was around or listening at any given time. It was better to be safe than sorry and so Crowley had written his request down on a scrap of paper which he’d tucked away in his pocket. 

His heart leaped as he watched Aziraphale stroll into the park, looking simply, well, divine in the waning sunlight. Even when Aziraphale doffed his cap to retrieve some bread to toss to the birds, he was still somehow utterly gorgeous. Even when his mind wandered from their conversation to the thought of food and his love for pears, he was still beautiful. Beautiful until he became indignant at Crowley’s request. 

“I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley,” the angel declared with a pained voice. As much as he appreciated Aziraphale’s concern, the angel had the wrong idea. He didn’t want the holy water for himself after all. But Aziraphale wouldn’t listen to reason. 

“I’m not an idiot, Crowley. Do you know what trouble I’d be in if- if they knew I’d been fraternizing? It’s completely out of the question.” 

Hurt and anger warred within Crowley for dominate feeling.

“_Fraternizing_?” Crowley scoffed in anger. Had their night together meant so little to Aziraphale? He should’ve known Aziraphale’s staunch loyalty to Heaven would once again interfere with their relationship. It should’ve been different after last night, though. 

“Well, whatever you wish it call it.” Crowley was cut deep by how dismissive Aziraphale sounded. He couldn’t help but lash out, to defend himself from further hurt and indignity. He only wished he’d meant it when he told Aziraphale that he didn’t need him. 

Aziraphale tossed the scrap of paper into the pond and stormed away from the petulant demon. He wasn’t sure if he was really angry with Crowley, or with himself. All he wanted to do was protect Crowley—from the forces of Heaven and Hell, from himself. He couldn’t imagine handing over something as dangerous as holy water to Crowley. Something that could destroy him completely and leave Aziraphale utterly alone. If he had agreed to it, someone surely would’ve asked what he needed the holy water for. Better to not arouse the suspicions of the other angels. He needed to protect both of them and if driving wedge between them was the way to ensure Crowley’s safety then he would make the sacrifice. 

He tried to console himself on the ride back to the bookshop by telling himself over and over again that it was for the best. This would keep Crowley safe. Even if he never got to see the demon again, at least Aziraphale knew he’d be alive and well. And that’s what mattered. Not the way his broken heart ached. Not the way he longed to pull Crowley close and hold him there forever. 

As much as he enjoyed their night together, as desperately as he wished it could’ve lasted, he knew it was a dangerous and foolish thing to have done. Maybe Hell would be okay with Crowley “corrupting” an angel, but Heaven would be a lot less forgiving of Aziraphale’s transgressions. 

When Aziraphale returned to the book shop, he left the signed in the window declaring it closed. He sighed heavily and made his way to the back of the shop where he hung up his hat and coat and hoped a nice cup of tea would settle his emotions.

As he walked toward the kitchen, he stooped to pick up a long black feather. He clutched the feather to his chest and squeezed his eye shut, tears sliding down his cheeks. 

“Oh, Crowley. What have I done?”


End file.
